futon

(7:00 am, thursday morning)

pressed:

you into me
a leg here, an arm there, my foot
shoved into some gap
in the metal detailing of the armrest
we are both
blankets, well-worn and tangled
i am tucked so deep into your chest
i am only your heartbeat
i am only your breath

me into the curve
where seat meets support
where it sags a little
where fabric forms awkward
folds along my side
but a body so weary doesn’t mind
a bunker to bury me in
and you to cover me
till summer comes